<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Sucker by Shir_Khan</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25682740">Sucker</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shir_Khan/pseuds/Shir_Khan'>Shir_Khan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red vs. Blue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angry blow jobs, Banned Together Bingo, Blow Jobs, It's like Angry Sex but with blowjobs, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Robot/Human Relationships, ruined orgasm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:01:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,960</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25682740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shir_Khan/pseuds/Shir_Khan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Armor enhancements aren’t the only things from Project Freelancer to crash-land on Chorus. In one of their raids, Carolina and Epsilon recover a cryogenically frozen Church bot, originally meant to house the Alpha AI. Now that Church has a physical body again, Tucker gets that tackle he was going for, and it changes more than either of them expect.</p><p>Or, Church and Tucker are bad with words so they work out their differences another way.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>AI Program Epsilon | Leonard Church/Lavernius Tucker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Banned Together Bingo 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sucker</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing about being shipwrecked on an unknown world is... well, the thing is there is no thing. There’s nothing but unknowns in that kind of situation. A world of unknowns, if you will.</p><p>So, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that, on this strange planet, one may encounter its occupants engaged in a bloody civil war. It is also within Epsilon’s estimations of reasonable probability that such a war could be influenced by outside agents or special interest groups. It does take him slightly by surprise when those outside agents reveal themselves to be the “low level thugs” he and Carolina have been investigating these last few months.</p><p>But to find out, through these tech-grifting pirates, that their crash-landed ship was secretly transporting mountains of military equipment from none other than Project Freelancer, and that, among this equipment, there just happened to be several perfectly intact android bodies fit for operation by AI—the Alpha AI, to be exact—well, that’s just fucking nuts, isn’t it?</p><p>Epsilon figures, hey, if they’re already in the area, he might as well treat himself to a little side mission to cryogenic storage.</p><p>Not that he’s had much use for a body in this kind of work. When they go on missions, he has to leave his body at their hideout anyways, traveling in Carolina’s armor to operate her equipment. Most days, though, he’s just monitoring secure channels and tracking personnel movement, which can be done inside any matrix (and the inside of Carolina’s armor isn’t the roomiest office for that).</p><p>Having a body just <em>feels</em> good. He can walk and run and go wherever he wants, not weighed down by stationary machinery; take up <em>physical</em> <em>space</em> that isn’t made of holographic light. It feels freeing in a way Epsilon has only known in other people’s memories. And the best part is that it wasn’t shoddily tossed together by Sarge, but built to nano-perfection and indistinguishable from his human avatar, indistinguishable from the way he feels inside.</p><p>All in all, leaving the Reds and Blues after the shipwreck was probably the best decision he’s made in a long time.</p><p>Uh, that sounds bad, but—well, it’s not like they left them to fend for themselves or anything. Yeah, they <em>technically</em> got captured by two feuding armies but, knowing them, they’d probably end up keeping Chorus locked in stalemate forever, just like back in Blood Gulch. Right? Yeah.</p><p>Besides, he and Carolina were monitoring the comms constantly. If the Reds and Blues were ever actually in danger, they’d be the first to know.</p><p>Like now.</p><p>There’s no way in hell Church is going to let a damn merc kill his team (and the Reds could be spared, too, he supposed), so it looks like he and Carolina have some rescuing to do.</p><p>And, man, their rescue is epic. Carolina slips right in with the mercs with Epsilon blackening her armor, and she manages to take down quite a few of those fuckers before that asshole—<em>Felix</em>—gets a cheap shot on her thigh with a hidden blade. No matter. They collect the gang and teleport to safety in no time.</p><p>When they arrive at the hideout, Church discreetly transfers over to his robotic body, releasing control over Carolina’s armor color and letting it fade back to aqua. Church wants to give the guys the surprise of a lifetime. It’ll be just like… well, something that happened in one of his past lives that he only vaguely remembers. He’d never admit it, but he’s actually really missed them. Especially his team. Especially—</p><p>“You know, I never thought I’d be so happy to see you idiots again,” Carolina greets their confused damsels, the smile evident in her voice despite the pain he knows she’s feeling from Felix’s knife.</p><p>“Carolina?”</p><p>That’s Tucker. Also, Church’s cue.</p><p>“That’s not all,” Church says, stepping out behind the rocks with his helmet hooked to his hip. He spreads his arms wide for his welcoming committee. “Miss me, assholes?”</p><p>Eight colorful helmets turn to him in unison. No one speaks for an extended moment, and Church grins in their surprise, letting them take it all in.</p><p>Tucker’s the first one to react, violently throwing his rifle to the ground.</p><p>“You fuck!”</p><p>The next moment is honestly a blur. He dully registers Tucker charging at him, but mostly only notices the impact of slamming into the ground and the wholly unpleasant sensation of having the wind knocked out of him.</p><p>Epsilon dissociates. He cycles though his fragments in rapid succession—Delta’s curiosity, Eta’s panic, Theta’s hurt, Omega’s outrage—trying to process what was happening.</p><p>Through all this, Church doesn’t see the first punch coming. It takes him by surprise, pain slamming into his cheek with more force than he knows what to do with.</p><p>Ouch. Since when could Tucker hit like that?</p><p>The second punch he braces for, throwing his arms up to shield his head as Tucker winds back his fist. But this next one has hardly any bite.</p><p>Wash and Carolina are already on the scene, wrenching Tucker off him. Everybody’s yelling at everybody, and all Church can do is just lay there, dazed and gasping for breath, wondering <em>what the fuck was that about?</em></p><p>This was not the reunion he was expecting.</p><p>Carolina winces as she pulls Tucker’s weight onto her leg. Seeing the blood oozing out the scrape in her armor is what breaks Church out of his daze. Head smarting, blood <em>boiling</em>, he sits up on his elbows.</p><p>“What the hell is your problem, man?” he yells at Tucker, who’s now being restrained by Wash. Not that he’s fighting back anymore.</p><p>“Medic coming through!” a shrill voice pierces through the crowd. It’s that lady that ran after Wash at the Fed base—did she accidentally teleport with them?</p><p>She zeroes in on Church, brandishing one of those glowing medical scanners. He bats her hands away, gesturing to Carolina until she takes the hint and refocuses her attention on her bleeding leg.</p><p>“What’s my problem?” Tucker practically spits at him. “You seriously asking me that? Where the fuck have you been?”</p><p>“Tucker, stop, he’s not worth it,” Wash says, still pinning Tucker’s limp form in a death grip.</p><p>Somewhere behind them, Grif pipes up with, “Okay, not to interrupt the drama club, but where the hell did you get that body?”</p><p>Finally! Church is glad <em>somebody</em> noticed, even if it was a Red.</p><p>“Maybe if <em>some</em> people weren’t busy acting like psychotic douchebags, I could explain,” he throws viciously at Tucker, pulling himself to his feet.</p><p>Thus begins the many-hours-long and unexpectedly tense game of catch-up.</p><p>Now that they’re actually here, Church is finding he may have been kidding himself by missing the Reds and Blues. It’s not like how he had expected. They all seem... wary of him. Even Caboose is acting a little distant.</p><p>And Tucker... Tucker will hardly even look at him.</p><p><em>He attacked us</em>, Theta whimpers in the back of his mind. <em>Is he not happy to see us?</em></p><p><em>Bet he wouldn’t act so tough if we gave him a taste of his own medicine, </em>the voice of Omega snarls back. <em>Let’s see how he likes a fist of reinforced carbon steel.</em></p><p><em>We’re not going to fight him</em>, Epsilon cuts them off internally, trying to split his attention between the conversations happening inside and outside his head. Shit like that is harder to do as a fragment than if he were a whole AI.</p><p>Theta isn’t calming down. <em>What did we do wrong? Why is everybody mad at us?</em></p><p>
  <em>Perhaps departing without warning immediately following a traumatic event has broken trust with the others.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Shut up, Delta, you’re not helping.</em>
</p><p>“Alright, Epsilon, you ready to transfer?”</p><p>His eyes snap up to meet Carolina’s. “Uh, what? Oh! Yeah, right. Crash site Alpha, here we go.”</p><p>He catches the slight tilt to Carolina’s helmet, which probably means she’s frowning at him, concerned with his response time. He shakes his head imperceptibly, as if to say <em>don’t worry about it.</em></p><p><em>Let’s just be glad they’re all okay, </em>Iota hums, their last thought before Epsilon plugs into Carolina’s suit.</p><p>Once in, he projects himself off her armor to address his team.</p><p>“Okay, people, the mission starts now.”</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>The mission is a fucking garbage fire.</p><p>First, the mercs somehow hone in on their exact position, despite the crash site being deserted when they arrive. Second, the ship’s computer systems are a mess to navigate, which wouldn’t be so much of a problem if some asshat hadn’t completely ignored his orders and <em>ripped</em> the chip from its port before Church could complete the transfer, locking down and corrupting all their data. To top it all off, they had to make an emergency get-away and somehow pick up a stray that tries to off Caboose, reinjuring Carolina when she’s inevitably the only one who can gather the brain cells to save him in time.</p><p>Long story short: Everything is ruined and it’s <em>all because of Tucker.</em></p><p>Now his sister is laying in the dirt, bleeding from her reopened stab wound, and that goddamn jackass is just staring at her.</p><p><em>What are you doing, idiot? </em>he wants to scream, but his fury is so potent, his voice dries up in his throat. No words are strong enough to contain the rage he feels right now. <em>You ruin our mission and now you choke up?</em></p><p>Dr. Grey rushes forward, crushed by the rest of the Reds and Blues trying to both help the fallen freelancer and restrain her attacker. But Tucker retreats, movements stilted and wooden as he takes one, two, three steps backwards and turns on heel, fleeing the scene. Running away from consequence, just like always.</p><p>Typical.</p><p>Church follows him.</p><p>He knows Carolina will be okay. She’s a survivor. A little reopened stab wound isn’t going to take her down now, not with that crazy doctor lady on their side. And though they may be idiots, the rest of them will be enough to keep that merc from escaping.</p><p>Tucker, though? <em>Tucker needs to get what’s coming for him.</em></p><p><em>Please don’t let Omega make decisions for us, </em>Eta begs him, but Epsilon is beyond listening to anyone else at this point. He chases Tucker’s retreating figure into the forest that surrounds their hideout.</p><p>
  <em>Where’s he going?</em>
</p><p>There are a couple things Church forgets about having a body: One, it takes a lot of exercise to maintain a typical soldier’s fighting shape. Two, unlike Church, Tucker apparently is in fighting shape. Three, running fucking sucks.</p><p>All this to say that Church loses track of Tucker fairly early on in their chase. He scans the huge trees for armor plating, but they’re all covered in vibrant greenish algae that looks a lot like Tucker to his distracted, fragmented mind.</p><p>He almost gives up and returns to base, but Sigma and Omega won’t relent. They’re itching for confrontation, simmering in the need for it, and keep his legs marching steadily forward through the low grass.</p><p>Eventually, they catch up.</p><p>Tucker’s stopped before one of the trees, his back to Church as he stares, helmet off, at the pulsating light emanating from the algae.</p><p>He must hear Church approach. He whips around, eyes wide and glazed as if he’s having trouble focusing. But as soon as he sees Church, his features morph into a scowl.</p><p>“What do you want?”</p><p>Church yanks off his own helmet to face him eye-to-eye. “I want to know what the hell has gotten into you lately! We come back to rescue you and you attack me, you’ve been acting like a total jackass to me, and today you directly disobey orders—"</p><p>“Oh, <em>I’m sorry</em>,” Tucker interrupts with more sarcasm Church has ever heard from the man, his shoulders heaving with the words, “You’re right! I should be dropping to my knees right now, thanking you for not letting us die after you <em>left us to die</em>.”</p><p>He’s still mad about that? What part of ‘stopping Freelancer equipment from falling into corrupt hands’ does this dumbass not understand? It’s like Tucker doesn’t care at all about what he and Carolina have been working for.</p><p>“Don’t be so dramatic, you guys were fine at the crash site! It would’ve been more dangerous if you had come with us.”</p><p>“That’s not the problem!” Tucker yells. He turns away sharply, stalking to where his helmet sits on a nearby boulder, before seeming to change his mind and turn back again. “And I don’t know if you noticed, Church, but I don’t take orders from you anymore. That’s kind of what happens when you desert your team!”</p><p>His fragments freeze for an entire second, collectively reeling at the words, before there’s an explosion of thought in his head.</p><p>“So, what, does this mean you’ve finally replaced me with Washington, then?” His tongue stumbles over the words, some combination of Omega and Theta bleeding into his voice. “You gave him my old armor, my fucking <em>name</em>, why not just give him my whole life while you’re at it?”</p><p>“God, you are such a tool,” Tucker mutters.</p><p>Epsilon ignores all the voices in his head telling him this conversation is a bad idea, ignores that Tucker’s posture is stiff and vulnerable, that he’s virtually panting in front of him, tugging at the collar of his skinsuit as if it were choking him. Church is hurting, and he wants Tucker to <em>hurt with him.</em></p><p>“You know what, Tucker? I always knew you were a fuckup, but that shit you pulled today? I don’t even know why I had any expectations of you to begin with.”</p><p>Tucker’s eyes wrench shut and his hands ball into fists by his sides. “Leave me alone.”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>Church shoves Tucker against the boulder, using way more of his artificial strength than he had intended. Even Epsilon recognizes that he’s going too far, but it’s like he’s watching his actions from behind a screen. Omega is fully in control now. He’s the one that carries their pain, and he’s wielding it against the only target in sight.</p><p>Tucker doesn’t even fight back. His armored body ragdolls as it slams into the rock face, looking back at Church with something like resigned disappointment. It’s so unsatisfying.</p><p>"I’m not leaving until you tell me what your problem is!”</p><p>That gets a reaction. Tucker’s face screws up in a grimace.</p><p>“You <em>left,</em>” he spits out, something flickering in his furious dark eyes. Something dying. Tucker’s next words come out measured and flat. “I don’t even think you know who I am.”</p><p>Thrown by Tucker’s words for the nth time since yesterday, Church is reminded that he still doesn’t even know what they’re fighting about anymore, that he’s just playing battleship with whatever light there is left in those eyes, throwing out barbs and insults purely in the hope that one of them will strike.</p><p>“You don’t think I know who you are? I know exactly who you are! You are the most insufferable, idiotic, good-for-nothing <em>cocksucker</em> I have ever met!”</p><p>Looks like Church gets his wish. Tucker’s eyes go flat as the light behind them snuffs out.</p><p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p><p>In an instant, all of Epsilon’s anger drains from his system, leaving behind nothing but panic. He opens his mouth to backpedal, to say he didn’t mean it, to do anything to get the fight back because that was so much better than the way Tucker’s looking at him right now—</p><p>No, no. The light’s not gone, he realizes, it just... <em>shifts,</em> like something slotting into place. Tucker sets his jaw, shoving off the rock and closing the distance between them.</p><p>“Is that what you want? Huh?” Tucker asks, sounding simultaneously biting and breathless. “You want me to suck your cock?”</p><p>What.</p><p>“What? Why—no, that’s not.”</p><p>Tucker’s hands grab at his hips, shedding him of the armor piece in record time. His voice takes on a taunting edge.</p><p>“You want me to be your cocksucker? Is that why you followed me out here?”</p><p>“Fuck—No!” Church splutters.</p><p>Faltering, he runs a quick checksum on himself, making sure this isn’t some sick hallucination conjured up by Gamma to trip him up.</p><p>But then their chest-plates <em>thunk</em> together as Tucker cups Church’s groin, and that feels very, <em>very </em>real. This body has near perfect artificial physiology; his internal processes are overheating with the stimulation, and Church feels the beat of the pumps in his chest working to flood his body with coolant, rushing it down to surge against Tucker’s touch.</p><p>He had wondered if this body was capable of... reacting this way. Apparently, it is.</p><p>Tucker gets up in his face, upper lip curling over his teeth, looking down at Church despite being an entire head shorter.</p><p>“You are such a piece of shit liar. Look at you; I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already getting hard. Fucking pathetic.”</p><p>Church shoves Tucker’s hand away, face burning with humiliation.</p><p>“Get off me, man,” he protests.</p><p>Tucker circles around Church’s side, boxing him against the rock. The light in his eyes has taken on a wild, wired glint that both thrills and terrifies him.</p><p>“Take it out, then, Church. Let me <em>suck</em> on it.”</p><p>Church knows he’s being ridiculed, he knows that, but... but the way the word <em>suck </em>rolls so sensually off Tucker’s tongue makes him question, for just a moment, if maybe the offer is genuine.</p><p>“The hell is wrong with you?” he asks, letting out an uncomfortable laugh. This interaction is cycling through tones too haphazardly to make sense of, and his fragments are at a loss for how to respond. “Why’re you acting like this?”</p><p>Tucker simply shrugs and leans forward, while Church mirrors the motion in the opposite direction. His back plating hits the boulder behind him.</p><p>“I’m just a cocksucker, aren’t I? That’s what you called me.”</p><p>Tucker sinks to his knees. In a flash, his hands yank apart the seam in Church’s skinsuit, freeing his rapidly hardening length. The sight of his eager cock in Tucker’s hand, in front of Tucker’s face—Church has never felt so simultaneously embarrassed and aroused in his life.</p><p>It’s just a physiological reaction.</p><p>
  <em>It’s just a physiological reaction.</em>
</p><p>“What are you doing?” Church asks, voice coming out barely stronger than a whisper, knowing full well what Tucker’s doing, and making no effort to stop it.</p><p>Tucker gives him a spiteful, withering look.</p><p>“What do you mean ‘what am I doing’? Are you an idiot?”</p><p>Without letting him respond, Tucker’s tongue darts out and dips into the slit of Church’s dick.</p><p>The touch is an electric jolt. Church inhales sharply. He grabs at Tucker’s dreads—he means to yank him away, really, but his unsure hands and rigid grip only end up holding him in place. Tucker wets his lips, the action defining the dimples in his cheeks, and goes in for another lick, this time dragging his tongue along the underside of the head.</p><p>His tongue swirls around the tip and it tickles—<em>tingles</em>—causing Church’s hips to flinch unsteadily. Tucker’s dark eyes are watching him, which is so fucking surreal. There’s no way to block that out, to pretend it’s someone else.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing,” Church asks again, mostly to himself.</p><p>“Isn’t this what you wanted, Church?”</p><p>Tucker drops his volume, throwing his aggressive tone into something smoother, huskier, his silky lips pressed up against Church like he’s speaking into a microphone. Heavy lids drop as Tucker’s gaze comes to rest on the proof of Church’s desire.</p><p>“<em>It</em> <em>is.</em> Look at you. Standing stiff at attention for me like a little bitch. So fucking desperate.”</p><p>A slick wet heat envelops his dick as Tucker takes him in his mouth. It shouldn’t look so good, the way Tucker’s lips wrap around him, but it does. Oh God, it does. Church nervously eyes the direction of the hideout, but can’t stop his eyes from drawing back to that image: Tucker sucking on him, all wide-eyed and submissive, almost sweet<em>, </em>so incongruous with everything leading up to this point.</p><p>“You’re calling me the bitch? I’m not the one on my knees right now like a cheap slut,” Church remarks, trying to play it cool like this is just another kind of argument between them.</p><p>Tucker indulges him with an downright pornographic moan that Church feels in shockwaves throughout his body.</p><p>“Ugh, you like being called that? Slut?”</p><p>Tucker answers by looking him straight in the eye and sucking <em>hard</em>, cheeks hollowing with the force of it, the pressure exactly what Church needs. He screws his eyes shut and bangs his head against the rock behind him.</p><p>“This is so fucking weird,” he mutters to the canopy.</p><p>The smooth, steady dives into Tucker’s mouth are breathing fire into Church’s soul. Every nerve ending in his cock is throbbing, <em>begging</em> for that mouth to go just a little deeper, suck a little harder, but—fuck, no, no, no, this is not what he came here to do, why is this even happening, he—</p><p>Tucker’s tongue does some sort of blood-magic on the underside of his shaft and all questions of sense fall right out of his head.</p><p>Where did he learn to give head like this? Out of all the people, Church never would have thought Tucker swung that way. But not only is he doing it, he’s fucking good at it, and without any reason or preamble, it’s suddenly the one thing Church desperately needs.</p><p>Tucker releases him with a soft <em>pop</em>, but his hands continue to work him, adding a little flourishing twist at the end of each stroke.</p><p>“Does your girl suck you like this, Church?”</p><p>With his sexy tone and the hazy fog clouding his brain, it takes a few moments to understand the question.</p><p>Church’s stomach roils with that mental image. He cringes, feeling himself grow softer in Tucker’s hands.</p><p>“Don’t talk about her.”</p><p>“What, you’re not picturing Carolina down here?” Tucker sneers at him.</p><p>The fists still locked in Tucker’s hair tighten in warning. “Shut your mouth, man. I’m not kidding.”</p><p>“Isn’t that why you went off to get that new body of yours? So you could bend her over—”</p><p>Church grabs hold of Tucker’s jaw and pries it open. He looks Tucker straight in the eye.</p><p>“Stop. Talking,” he orders, cold and firm.</p><p>Fury burns in his reflection. Tucker twists, trying to speak around the gloved thumb hooked over his bottom teeth. A thread of drool spills over his lip and runs down his chin.</p><p>“Why don’t you make me, prick?”</p><p>Sigma ascends to the challenge.</p><p>Still holding Tucker by the chin, Sigma smashes him against Church’s crotch, smearing his stupid pretty face all over Church’s dick and balls. Sigma doesn’t even do it because it feels good, he does it to be an asshole and drag spit and precum into Tucker’s hair.</p><p>Even with all the abuse, Tucker still doesn’t shut up.</p><p>“Oh, you like it wet, huh?” he gasps out, trying his best to deliver broad-strokes licks to whatever part of Church he can reach. “You want that sloppy toppy?”</p><p>Church wants desperately to shut him up.</p><p>One hand still holding him by the hair, Church lets go of Tucker’s chin and guides himself back to rest at Tucker’s lips. Tucker takes the bait greedily.</p><p>Omega keens at the painful gagging noise Tucker makes as Church rams into the back of his soft palate. Well, shit. Maybe Tucker hadn’t done this before, given the way his throat works to dilate around the intrusion.</p><p>Sigma growls, not one to give up so easily.</p><p>He assaults the back of Tucker’s throat with rapid, shallow thrusts, relenting only to allow for the occasional intake of breath.</p><p>Tears well up in Tucker’s eyes, matting in his dark lashes. So filthy and beautiful and human.</p><p>And then Church gets <em>in</em>, it’s so hot and tight and wet back there, he loses all sense of control in his enthusiasm, multiple fragments fighting to be the one at the forefront of the experience, and their body pushes too deep. Tucker retches and pulls off, probably ripping a little bit of his own hair out along the way.</p><p>Church can see his throat bob as he swallows. It sounds like he’s breathing through gravel as he gulps down air, hand still absently pumping away at Church’s dick.</p><p>And that nauseating panic returns, screaming at him that he went too far, maybe he even hurt him by accident—</p><p>Epsilon doesn’t get enough time to devolve into a meltdown before Tucker’s mouth is back on his cock, pushing forward, throat opening once again. Oh, God, he was willing to do it again! To go deeper, and deeper, until Church bottoms out against his face, until Tucker’s nosing the dark hairs at the base of his stomach.</p><p>Church tries to keep his reactions down to business-like pants. The soft, squelching sounds filling the clearing are already obscene enough; he doesn’t need to add to his future regret by letting loose the needy moans piling up in his chest.</p><p>It’s like he’s looking at Tucker through fractured glass, facets of emotion superimposed into one image as the fragments cycle faster and faster through the pleasure, and there’s this nagging sensation that it’s incomplete, like a partial database ring-wrapped in firewalls.</p><p>He logs that feeling away for later.</p><p>Slowly, Tucker’s eyes shut. The tears gathering in his lashes escape and fall silently down his ruddy, swollen cheeks. It makes him look so lost and fragile and unbreakable and divine, crying prettily as he lets Church defile him. <em>It’s just a physiological reaction</em>.</p><p>“That’s it. Nice and easy,” Church murmurs, the encouragement falling off his tongue unbidden. Iota gently gathers Tucker’s loose dreads out of his face. “That’s what you are, right? Easy? You’ll let me fuck the shit out of that smart mouth of yours, I guess it must be good for something.”</p><p>Tucker moans his affirmative, writhing slightly. Church wonders if he’s just as destroyed as he is—if he’s just as hard, beneath his armor. He hopes he is.</p><p>“You’ve been a cockslut this whole time?” he asks, and fuck if that doesn’t awe him.</p><p>Tucker pulls off again, much more gently this time, a string of saliva connecting them.</p><p>“Only for you,” he breathes, voice absolutely wrecked.</p><p>The oscillator in Church’s chest staggers.</p><p>"Give it to me, Church,” Tucker begs, an indecipherable mélange of emotion swimming in his eyes. “Cum all over my slutty mouth.”</p><p>When Tucker sucks him again, the sensations take on a new dimension. Amplified. Whole-bodied. He understands more from instinct than experience that this is an orgasm, and he’s more than ready for it to wash over him.</p><p>It must all happen within the span of two, maybe three seconds, though he’s long since lost touch with his internal clock. In one moment, he’s approaching that peak—tasty, gushing desire stringing his body taught like a bow ready to fire—in the next, Tucker rips it all away.</p><p>Tucker scrambles backwards. The sensations he leaves behind linger beneath Church’s skin, peaking weakly on their own even without further stimulation, but ultimately rushing away before that sweet release, like barreling off a cliff only to be caught on a ledge you didn’t see five feet down.</p><p>His body latches onto the orgasm that never comes, still desperately trying to follow through with it. The artificial muscles in his pelvis contract rhythmically with a disappointing soreness. Church grits his teeth through it. Did Tucker hear someone coming? Blinking, he rapidly scans the clearing, but sees no sign of their companions.</p><p>“What the hell?” he demands of Tucker, whose wiping his face down with the crook of his elbow. “Why’d you stop?”</p><p>Church wraps a hand around his cock, trying to ride out that residual intensity, but his touch is almost painful. Like the overstimulation after coming, but without actually coming. Some sort of milky fluid, whatever synthetic stand-in for semen he’s been outfitted with, dribbles out the tip of his dick. Even his goddamn balls ache.</p><p>Tucker’s already on his feet, a couple meters of distance between them. Face still puffy and flushed, he meets Church’s glare with a dead-eyed look.</p><p>“Doesn’t feel very good to be left in the dust, does it, Church?” he asks and yanks his helmet down over his head.</p><p>Church gapes at him.</p><p>His fragments scramble to respond as Tucker turns his back and disappears through the trees. Epsilon takes a step, intending to go after him, to make him get back on his knees and finish what he started, but he feels completely ridiculous sporting a dripping wet hard on in full body armor.</p><p>No. Now he has to wait for his boner to go down, panting and sweating, fucking angry and in shock and <em>still</em> <em>horny</em>, all while paranoid of someone coming across him in this compromised state.</p><p>
  <em>I’m going to murder that shitty little motherfucking—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>—do you think he’s going to tell the others what happened?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I see no obvious benefit from his perspective—</em>
</p><p><em>What if they find out anyway? What if they already </em>know<em>—</em></p><p>
  <em>Guys. Tucker just had sex with us.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He fools himself if he thinks what he takes is more than what he gives.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes, Gamma. Let him think he won this exchange. His confidence will be—</em>
</p><p>Epsilon refocuses his attention on mentally solving complicated probability equations until his fragments quiet down. This was too much. Too much thought. Too much uncertainty. Too much not knowing where the fuck he stood with Tucker. There were a lot of unknowns in his life lately, but one thing was undeniably certain:</p><p>That fucker was going to pay for this.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading! I hope I didn't blue-balls anyone as bad as Church!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>